Fought with the landlord’s new girlfriend over text all weekend. I cannot believe how much they insult me and my intelligence. Horrid, wretched people.
I was up half the night worrying about work too. The upstairs neighbor was actually quiet for a change. And I still barely slept.
But I’m focusing on the positive. A problem that was created got solved. I won’t think about the other 98 problems I have to solve/help solve.
I got to thinking about the Weight Watchers “Connect” app. I watch people brag that they ate a whole cake but they tracked it and they will be better tomorrow.
I was thinking about it because of a big problem that I didn’t create, didn’t solve and didn’t even handle. And it’s giving me an ulcer.
Someone asked about it and my mental response was “well good riddance” and I thought about those “I ate the WHOLE CAKE AND LOVED IT MMMM MMMMMMMMM” people. They make jokes where they are not appropriate.
I mean yes, eat what you want, be honest about it in your tracker and promise yourself to do better the next meal/day. Fine.
But don’t be a dick about it.
I mean yes, I have to own my fuckups (even if I don’t fully believe they were within my control). Take control. Apologize. Fix it. Ask for help in fixing it. And if you don’t get it, fix it anyway. (This is where I fell down on the job. I didn’t “fix it anyway.” Because I have no idea how.)
But where I kind of look down my British nose at the people who proudly binge-ate is that this is a lifestyle, eating right. You know what I want to do when I eat cake? EAT MORE CAKE. So I cannot eat cake. It’s that simple.
I can’t snack anymore either. I don’t buy them. Because I will Hoover them in. I can’t open a bag of chips — even sea salt kale or quinoa chips — without DEMOLISHING them. So, no chips in Goddess’ world unless I know I will destroy the bag and will have to give up something else that’s delicious because of it.
Anyway, only I could try to relate food to work. But yeah. I binge on work too. Maybe not on all the right things. I know I give way more attention to certain things (like 10 Cherry Tomatoes Short of a Salad) and not to OMG This Thing is On Fire (sung in the tune of Alicia Keys). And the trade-off is my health. Ergo, wine for dinner and health problems galore.
In any event. The handbasket awaits. And of course there’s no gas in it because this is me we’re talking about!